Write Me into Your Daydream
by madefornight
Summary: It was a dream; a crazy unrealistic daydream that was never going to happen. I was just me, just a girl with an idea. But now that idea is coming to life and things are spiraling out of control. My daydream has turned into my nightmare, and I don't know what to do. {Full summary inside}
1. Summary

Lux Sofer is a writer. She earns a living on a few short stories published under her penname, Mayfor Night, but her real passion and inspiration is fanfiction. Taking a chance she has her agent send her fanfiction to Mark Gatiss, offering her ideas for season three of Sherlock. She never expected him to get back to her; she certainly didn't expect him to want to use her character and ideas.

Flying to London she feels like it's a dream. This can't actually be her life, her story actually being put on TV; yes, a dream would be the only reasonable explanation. But that dream soon turns into a nightmare. Lux's new life comes with problems she never imagined starting with paparazzi trying desperately to get a picture of the new Sherlock writer. Add confrontation with the other writers, problems with the crew, and the difficulty of being two people at once Lux doesn't think she can handle much more.

But her problems are only just beginning; the press and the fandom are growing restless and some are out for blood, her blood. Suddenly her nightmare becomes very, very real with a threat on her life if she continues working with the show and Lux doesn't know where to turn.

All she wants is to go back to when it was all just a dream. A silly little daydream that was all her own with no influence from the outside world. Now it's been tainted black and the only ray of light comes in the form of a deep voice whispering to her from the shadows, "Write _me_ into your daydream."


	2. A Mind Like Mine

In December of 2012 a man sat down for dinner. The waitress offered him a glass of the house wine which he declined. She smiled and walked away. He looked over the menu but his eyes were unfocused. There was a spark in those eyes and a twitch in the corner of his lips that made Steven Moffat smirk as he approached the table for two. "I've seen that look before," he said when he was within ear shot; "You've been inspired."

Mark Gatiss stood up and shook the hand of his old friend, "When I share what I have I think you will be too." They sat back down and the waitress came back to take Steven's order. He ordered a glass of the wine and she left them to discuss personal matters. For the duration of the meal Mark managed to evade the subject of the evening with small talk. He asked about Steven's kids and his wife. Steven in turn asked about Marks husband, Ian. He smirked as he admitted that Ian was a little annoyed with him recently but when Steven asked he gave the other man a smooth quirk of the eyebrow and changed the subject.

"Well?" Steven finally asked as the finished their meals and the waitress took away their plates, "I've only got a few days left till the Christmas Special and I have a lot to do."

Mark laughed, "The special runs two days from now. There is nothing else to be done."

"While that is true I do have kids to get back to," he set his glass on the table, "It being Christmas and all. So if this isn't about Doctor who, then it's about Sherlock. We've finalized our plan for series three. All that's left is to finish our scripts-"

"Scrap 'em."

Steven paused, raising an eyebrow, "What?"

"Scrap it," Mark smiled, reaching down for the brief case beside him, "I have a new idea for this series."

"An idea worth sacrificing months of planning for?" Steven asked leaning across the table, "Mark, be reasonable-"

"I am," he said pulling out a stack of paper. It wasn't a large stack, probably less than two hundred pages with paperclips holding small sections together. "You need to read this and then we need to get to work."

"Read what?" he asked taking the stack from the other man and glancing over the cover page. "Deducing Tragedy Part One: See no Evil? Mark, what is this?"

"You've heard of Fanfiction, this is one," He smiled. "It's by a popular short story writer over in America. She had her agent send me this because she was tired of waiting for series three and thought we might need help. She's offered her characters and plot as well as her personal help should we ask for it."

Steven gave Mark a look, "Fanfiction? You're suggesting we use… fanfiction?"

"I'm suggesting we use the compelling story of a woman whose life is consumed with tragedy," He said sitting back in his chair, "and she's absolutely made for Sherlock."

"Irene was made for him," he said scanning over the first couple pages.

"The author describes them as two sides of the same coin," he mused. "I adore that chapter. Irene is dark, this new character is light; Yin and Yang. They are very similar if not completely different."

"the character's name is Hanna Hooper," Steven frowned looking over the chapter titles, "as in Molly?"

Mark nodded, "Her younger sister. Molly is the reason Hanna comes into Sherlock's life."

"We said we were going to only use the original characters," he glanced at Mark. "We hesitated in adding Molly at first and now you want to add a family?"

"She is worth adding."

Steven groaned, letting go of the pages to pinch the bridge of his nose, "Mark-"

"Before you say anything, I know I sound crazy," he said pulling out his phone. "You are not the only one I've discussed this with. Last week I asked Ian to take a look and he sent me these as he read," he handed his phone to the other man who took it with an exasperated sigh.

Steven looked over the text files and let out a long breath, "He asked you what he was reading, and you told him to just keep going." Mark smirked over his water as Steven scrolled down. "He asked who the… Monster was?"

Mark only smiled; knowledge about the secret gleaming in his eyes as he nodded for Steven to continue.

He scowled and looked back at the phone, "Well he likes it and…"

Mark cocked his head to the side, "And…?"

"He really likes it," Steven frowned again, "He's became obsessed with it. 'That can't be it, please tell me that's not is. There has to be more, tell me where to find It.'" he quoted the other man's husband before looking back over the pages in front of him, "What happens in this story?"

"Steven what I just handed you is one hundred and forty-six pages of love, mystery, and sadistic twists and turns that even I didn't see coming." Mark said leaning back across the table. "This woman writes like us, she thinks like us, and people will adore the direction she takes us in. I know the amount of work we've done on series three already, I know what I'm asking when I say to scrap what you've written but-"

"You believe it's worth it." he said sliding the phone back across the table.

Mark nodded once, "I wouldn't ask you to if I didn't."

He turned his eyes back to the stack of papers under his hand and frowned quizzically. One hundred and forty-six pages, huh? He'd written scripts longer than that. What could this girl had written that would have Mark and his husband in such a tizzy? Steven hadn't seen him like this since they started Sherlock. All those raw ideas flowing through his head about Canon Doyle's story and now this girl had done the same, but how? What could one-hundred and forty-six pages hold that inspired him as it has?

More importantly: who is the mind behind it?


	3. A Spark

"You don't have to walk me home you know," Aleta said as she walked down the row of small boulders lining one of the houses in the neighborhood. I looked at her. She was looking at her feet, watching where her baby blue high tops connected with the slick surface she paced.

"I know," I exhaled, looking back at my own worn out converse as I trudged through the melting snow. It was warm for a Minnesota winter and definitely too warm for early January. Black slush and salt lined the sidewalks and roads. I could feel it soaking into my shoes and the bottom of my pant legs.

"So why are you here?" she asked jumping off the last rock and into a shallow puddle a few feet ahead of me. A gust of wind swept through the street. Blonde hair swirled around my sister's heart shaped face. Her blue eyes were full of an innocent curiosity that made me bookmark the scene for later use. Maybe I could work it into the story I was working on. Or a future one should it prove not to fit.

"What, you don't want me here?" I teased and she rolled her eyes.

"Of course I want you here," she smiled before giving me a pointed look. "But I have a feeling that you're not just stopping by for a visit. You're avoiding a deadline again, aren't you?"

"I'm always avoiding a deadline," I shrugged, tucking my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. "They were made to be avoided."

"You're being paid a hell of a lot of money to write a fiction story for a widely popular newspaper," she pointed out, looking back over her shoulder. "And yet, you refuse to do it."

"Oh I plan on doing it," I smiled at her, "but for now I'm 'brain storming'."

"You knew what you were going to do before they hired you."

I cocked my head to the side as I thought, "Like four years. It's something I've been toying with for a while now but never got around to writing it. I guess I've been fond of this idea for so long that if I'm going to do it, I want to make sure it's done right. Hence the extra brain storming and avoiding."

"Is this the one where she has cancer but doesn't tell anyone?"

"Yep."

"And she dies."

"Of course."

She stopped walking and turned around to face me, "Why?"

I raised an eyebrow, "Why what?"

"Why do all your stories' end in heart break?"

I shrugged, pushing past her to the front walk of the house, "Because…" I began, looking back at her. "That's how things work in real life. I'm not going to patronize my readers with fairytales."

We got into the house and she made a b line for the couch which she then landed on like a ton of bricks. I walked into the empty kitchen and paused a moment. It was quiet, our parents were gone. The house was empty but for Aleta and me. On the counter behind me was a note addressed to the both of us. Apparently Dad was taking Mom to Duluth for a romantic weekend and wanted me to watch Aleta until they got back.

My eyes narrowed at scrap of paper Mom had torn from who knows what in her hurry to get out of the house, "It's Wednesday."

"They're gone again, aren't they?" I turned to see Aleta standing in the doorway.

"Go get packed," I said tossing the note in the trash. "You're coming home with me."

She tried to argue, "I'll be fine-"

"Aleta go get packed." I ordered and she nodded, hurrying up the stairs to her bedroom. I pulled out my phone once she was out of ear shot and called my mother. She didn't answer, I didn't expect her too. "She's fifteen," I reminded a machine. "She's fifteen and you're supposed to be here. I'm not always going to be around-" I stopped knowing that, despite my orders, Aleta would be on the steps listing every word I hissed into the speaker. "Your place is here, for three more years. After that you can go on all the romantic weekends you want. Come. Home. Now."

I hung up and set the phone on the counter, running my hands through my hair. I wanted to pull it out by the roots. I moved out a little over a year ago now. I wasn't far away, just across town. But after the first weekend that Aleta stayed with me they've been taking off. Leaving a note with a half-assed excuse about why they were gone. It'd gotten to the point where they didn't even give us notice when they were going. They just left. A couple times I would come over to find my sister alone in the house. She was fine, she can take care of herself, but she shouldn't have too.

"Lux," I looked up to see her back in the threshold. This time she had a heavy coat, her backpack, and a small suit case. "I'm ready."

"Uniform too?" I asked. "You still have two days of school left this week."

"Of course," she rolled her eyes. "I'm not an idiot."

I smirked, "I know, get in the car." Aleta got to pick the music as we drove to my apartment complex. She always did when she came over.

"You know she won't get that voice mail till Sunday," she said landing on my couch and reaching for the remote.

"You need to stop listening to my phone calls." I said entering the kitchen and opening the pantry. "Now do you want stale chips n' dip or Mac & cheese for dinner?"

She peered over the back of the couch, "Both?"

"Both is good." We made dinner while the TV played in the background. She told me about school and I elaborated on my story a bit. I don't really like talking about works in progress so I kept that conversation short. After dinner she did her homework. I dicked around on the internet, avoiding responsibility as was my MO.

She stood up to stretch after she finished and walked around to sit with me on the couch. Those big blue eyes of hers smirking as she sat down. "That's a good start, you opened Word.

"The page is taunting me."

"Just write it."

"I'm trying."

"I've been watching you for the better part of an hour; no, you're not."

"I have things on my mind."

"Like?"

I looked at her, should I tell her? No, she'd think I was stupid. But she's my sister. She'd still think I was an idiot she'd just have to continue loving me after she found out. But should I tell her? Yes- or I could not and be happy with that. Or I could and we'd both get a laugh out of it. OR I could just keep it to myself and laugh about. Just tell her- no! Yes! Ugh!

"Lux," she snapped her fingers in front of my face, "what's up with you?"

"I had Megan send Mark Gatiss my fanfiction for ideas about season 3," I blurted out and then clapped my hand over my mouth.

Her face was blank, "Megan… as in the agent lady who yells at you a lot?"

"In fairness, I give her many reasons to yell at me."

A thoughtful frown appeared on her face, "huh."

"Yeah."

"When did you do this?"

"A couple weeks ago," I admitted closing my laptop. "Two weeks before Christmas."

"And?"

My eyes narrowed, "And what?"

She raised an eyebrow, "Has he gotten back to you?"

I swallowed, "Well no but-"

"Then why are you so concerned about it?" she rolled her eyes as she stood up and walked into the kitchen.

"I put myself out there!" I said leaning against the back of the couch. "I sent him my story of which I am very proud of! He could tear it apart and call it rubbish-"

"Do the Brits really say rubbish?"

"Yes, of course they say rubbish."

"Huh."

"But I'm really freaking out about this-"

"You're worried about Brits people saying rubbish?"

"Aleta!" I moaned sinking down against the counter.

"Oh calm down," she laughed opening the fridge to grab the milk. "I was kidding. Honestly Lux, he's more likely to never even know you sent it. It probably got sent to his spam."

I sighed, tucking my chin into the cushion, "I know."

"And, hypothetically, lets say he does read it," she began as she filled her cup, "but he decides it's not a good fit for the show… what will you do?"

I raised an eyebrow, "I'd probably die of humiliation."

She rolled her eyes, "Sorry, the correct answer is you'll be a little bummed but get over it."

"You're the one who said hypothetically."

She gave me an irritated look before continuing, "Now let's say he loves it. He contacts your agent and demands to know the master mind behind the words he just finished reading. What do you do then?"

My eyes narrowed. I hadn't thought about it. I was so caught up with the thought that Gatiss would hate my work and me for it. But what if he liked it? What if he actually wanted to use it? Why would he- that doesn't matter. Why he would or would not like it doesn't matter. If he decided to use my character and story for season three… what would I do?


	4. The Rain Came Down

A man stood outside the Hilton in Central London. A few feet from him rain poured down on the London streets. Anything and anyone that dared try run through its icy drops found themselves soaked and miserable. He gave a chuckle as a rude business man, who'd previously been arguing with the doorman of the hotel over something silly and insignificant, tried to run to the cab that'd been called for him only to run right into a particularly powerful gust of wind and rain and soaked him through and through.

"What's so amusing?" another man asked walking up to the first.

"Karmic justice," he said tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette. "You're here early."

"Yeah well," he shrugged, turning to lookout across the street same as the other man. "The driver somehow made a thirty minuet drive in twenty. What about you?"

"I'm staying here for the moment," He said nodding to the hotel behind him with the white tube hanging between his lips. "How's Amanda?"

"She's great," the second man turned towards the first. "Why are you staying here? You have a house."

The first man smirked, "I do. What about your kids, how are they?"

His eyes narrowed slightly, "they're fine. Why are you changing the subject?"

He shrugged, "I'm just making conversation."

"No, you're avoiding my questions," the second man rolled his eyes. "Just because you're the smart one on camera doesn't mean you are when the camera turns off."

"I think the three of us can agree that I'm the smart one," Gatiss laughed approaching the two men how turned to greet him.

"Mark, it's good to see you." Martin Freeman said shaking his hand.

"Especially under these circumstances," Benedict added with a smile. "I've been waiting for this call for about a year now."

Mark raised an eyebrow, "A year ago the last series had just finished airing."

"Exactly."

Martin crossed his arms, "So this is about Sherlock then."

Mark nodded, "Of course."

"Good because I've been hearing some strange things over the past few weeks that I've wanted to talk to you about." He looked around them before nodding across the street, "However, our private meeting it about to get a lot less private; we've been spotted." The others turned to see a few people stopped under the awning of a shop. Their camera phones were out and snapping away at the three men as they turned to enter the building behind them.

Lunch consisted of more small talk about Martin and Mark's families. The asked Ben about filming for Fifth Estate and in unfortunate correspondence with the man he would be playing. Martin talked about the second Hobbit film and Ben mentioned going to the London Zoo to watch the Komodo Dragons as he would be playing Smaug. Mark talked about his role in Game of Thrones for a bit as they reached the end of their meal. The conversation reached a stand still as their waitress took their dishes away. They exchanged glances as she eyed Ben with a hungry gaze. He gave her a small smile and a wink to which she nearly dropped the plates in her hand. She scurried away and Ben chuckled as the other two rolled their eyes.

"So down to business then," Mark began. "Series three."

"It's in production then," Ben said taking a drink of his tea.

He nodded, "It will be soon, Stephen and Steven are putting the final touches on their scripts and we're working out times for the read through. Though you should know that they are going to be done over several days rather than the one or two we've done in the past."

Ben raised an eyebrow, "Why?"

"I think Martin knows," Mark said turned to the man in question. "You've said you hear rumors, what were they?"

"I heard from a friend, who also happens to know the Moffat's, that our overlaying plot will not be an original Canon Doyle story. I heard… we're doing a fanfiction."

Ben spit out his tea, "What?!"

Mark held up his hands as Martin handed Ben a napkin to wipe his face, "Calm down."

"How can-" Ben paused as the waitress walked by, "How can you expect me to calm down? What are you and Steven thinking? A fanfiction, Mark? Really?"

"Yes."

Ben leaned back in his chair, "So what? I'm to snog Martin then?"

Martin rolled his eyes but Mark only chuckled, "No, no, not one of those. This could, but for the fact that it is clearly based on our show, be published as an original novel because of how she approached the story. She's added a character, her own character. A love interest for Sherlock Holmes."

"I thought Adler was his love interest," Martin said crossing his arms over his chest.

Mark nodded, "She is and she has a place in this woman's story. She is the dark to this new character's light. While Irene is only interested in serving her own interests Hanna only wants to help. They are both brilliant, both beautiful, and both are perfect for Sherlock."

Ben raised an eyebrow, "Yin and Yang."

"Exactly."

"So why are we taking extra day for the read through?" Martin asked.

"The original author deserves a say in what we use and how we use it," Martin explained. "After all we couldn't follow her story completely. Changes had to be made."

"Who is this author? Some teenager with no clue about TV or film?" Ben asked. His displeasure at the idea was clear to everyone.

"We don't know."

"You don't know?" he asked raising an eyebrow, "How can you not know?"

"She is a short story writer," Mark began to explain, crossing his arms over his chest. "She's getting quite popular in America. So her tracks have been well covered. The woman who contacted me, her agent, only gave me her pen name. Mayfor Night."

"I've heard of her," Martin said nodding, "She is good."

"We wouldn't have considered this if she wasn't," Mark said with a pointed look at Ben. "It's a fantastic story. If my word is not enough then I did bring copies of the text for both of you to read if you want."

Ben leaned forward onto the table, "Are you sure about this? Are you absolutely sure?"

Mark leaned forward as well, "Read the story, Benedict."

"I will," Martin chimed in, trying to break the tension between the two men. "I'd like to read it."

Mark turned to look at him and nodded before reaching down to his brief case. Pulling out two copies of the story he handed one to Martin who scanned the cover page.

"Deducing Tragedy Part One," he read, Ben turned to look at him, "See no evil?"

"She's writing a trilogy," Mark smiled.

"One story per episode," Martin nodded flipping through the first couple pages.

"One story per series," Mark corrected him.

"You're kidding," he said letting the pages fall from his fingers. "You're signing her on for three total series?"

"It's an idea but the way this story ends we could stop it there," Mark explained. "It all depends on how well Mayfor is received, how well her ideas are appreciated by our audience."

"What are the other stories called?" Ben asked.

"The other stories?"

"This one is called See no Evil," he nodded toward the text in front of Martin. "What are the other ones called?"

"Part two is called Speak no Lies," Mark said. "She's on chapter 23."

"It's not even finished?"

"See no Evil is a complete enough story that it can stand alone," Mark explained. "She could have ended it right then and there she even said, that if the people who read her story wanted to, they could have stopped reading. Many did, most choose to continue."

"And the reasoning behind the names?" Ben asked with a slight frown. "Why Deducing Tragedy? Why See no Evil?"

Mark placed his hand on the story in front of him, "The series is call Deducing Tragedy because our heroine's life is consumed with tragedy. The story is called See no Evil because when it begins Hanna is blind."

"Blind?"

"Blind."

Martin smirked, "That sounds like something you would write. You or Steven."

"Precisely." He beamed, "And because she is blind she affects Sherlock all the more. He can't deduce her the same way he does everyone else. And what he can deduce is only because she's allowed it. She is brilliant; she knows how his mind works. He sees only what she wants him to. Like when he first met Irene and she was naked. He could deduce nothing because that was how she designed it."

Ben nodded slowly, his eyes on the stack of papers under Martin's hands. Mark was so sure of his plan, so sure of someone else's ideas. If he was bringing it up to them then Moffat was probably on board as well. These men were two of the most brilliant story tellers he knew. They've done brilliant things with Sherlock thus far. They wouldn't jeopardies that.

"Give me the copy," he sighed finally. "If I'm going to be acting out fanfiction I might as well know how this author portrays the character."

"Fanfiction?" the waitress squeaked and they turned to see her standing a few feet from them, "Series three is going to be a fanfiction?!"


End file.
